


Dum Spiro Spero.

by StormyJupiter



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Angst, Sad hours boiiiiii, he may be the middle bro but he took care of them both, im still sad they're dead ok, papaII loved his brothers especially III FIGHT ME IN THE PITS OF HELL, this is me throwing all my papaII headcanons into the void ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 23:03:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18108317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormyJupiter/pseuds/StormyJupiter
Summary: Francesco Emeritus knew his position had it’s lows. They never show when you first become Papa, in the beginning it’s all parties, admiration and love, a shallow love.A piece about Papa Emeritus II during his reign, his internal conflict about the life he has been given, and maybe a few regrets.





	Dum Spiro Spero.

**Author's Note:**

> who doesn't like to feel sad about our dead pope bros? sorry.
> 
> Kinda want to make this a series for the other two as well, but this made me sad to write.

Francesco Emeritus knew his position had it’s lows. They never show when you first become Papa, in the beginning it’s all parties, admiration and love,   
a shallow love.  
Even looking down to the crowd before him in the darkened chapel, he knew their celebrations was an act, sure there were some who were happy to see the title move through the family, but honestly, most didn’t care who was in charge, as long as they lived without issue, that was good enough for them.  
Emil placed a hand on his younger brother’s back, Fran looked to the older man, his skull paint worn away, his aged skin beginning to show through like the sun through the drapes in the morning, a stark contrast to his own, new painted face. He looked sad, of course he would be right? he was no longer in charge.  
No.  
This look was a sad look of pity.

The paperwork was hell, maybe he died during the celebrations of his papacy and got there already? Who knows. But there was a lot, he never quite realized the work his brother did. He was able to set up smaller churches around the country and did so much to spread their gospel, he was a really respected man from the letters he’d receive from the churches, welcoming him into his position, but also hinting that they'd miss his predecessor. Fran would have hoped Emil worked hard, all he did was work when he was Papa.  
He had to make sure all branches were working accordingly, following the rites of their religion, and not become corrupt like their contemporaries. It was hard work, and many, too many, died for it. Some may question his choices, and say that Papa Emeritus II was bloodthirsty, no, he was just protective of what he had, and he saw no reason not to kill to protect it.

His younger brother would often peek into his office, Giovanni thought he wasn’t seen, but most of the time, he was, Fran just didn’t want to scare him away, so he pretended he didn’t. He liked the company.  
He could tell his brother worried about him, they were close, but being Papa took a lot of time away from family, he didn’t even visit Emil that often. He hated that.

When Sister Imperator told him he would be continuing the Ghost Project, something he regarded as a silly waste of time, he was annoyed, he had to much to do, he protested greatly, it always became a fight with Sister, two strong-headed forces against each other. He was one of the few with the gull to yell at her.  
“Do it,” Emil had once whispered into his ear when he stopped them both in the hallway one day, “you will soon realize, what freedom is.” The eldest didn’t wait for a reply. Fran pondered over it all night.  
Then he realized.

You would think leading a church meant you were free from oppression within that church. No, Fran felt more oppressed now than he ever was, he was beginning to be told how to act, what to do, what to say, it wasn’t like this at the start, he was able to do as he pleased, but slowly, they wrapped the strings around his limbs and began to control him.  
Like a marionette. Spun around for others to enjoy, gaudy costume and all.

Some nights he wanted to scream, curse his blood, he wanted to confront Emil for putting him here, but what could he do? Defy the church and be Papa until he died? We’d be back to square one. And Giovanni, he was such a free spirit, he couldn’t become Papa, the church would never let him out alive.

The roads were long, and the bed very uncomfortable, but he preferred it to the large bed in his quarters at home.  
With Emil’s words echoing his mind, he continued the project, it gave him something that almost felt like joy. No Sister Imperator, no church to hover over him, only he and his ghouls, loyal only to him. He felt in charge again.  
He took this freedom in stride, partying, fucking, all of it, satan knows when he’d have fun like this again, before being locked away in the church, tormented by the never ending work that faced him.

That’s when the nightmares began, he would return home, walk to Emil’s chambers to talk, only to see his large door broken open, he would lightly push it open to find the chamber wrecked, all of Emil’s treasured books thrown around, tables turned and materials spilled everywhere, he would look down to see Emil, blooded and lifeless, he looked like he had tried to keep the door closed from whatever wanted to enter. He would before him to see his little brother, sprawled on the staircase that lead to the bedroom,  
Without his head.

He would wash these nightmares away with black coffee and a shot of fireball, his ghouls could feel the anxiety, but couldn’t do anything about it.

Her name was Miriam, he was doing the festival rounds when they met, she was one of the many photographers, but she, she had stood out to him.  
She traveled as long as he did, and the two always ended up running into each other, usually in the mornings, both fancied the morning fog on the festival grounds and walked together, she would share stories on the road, the crazy rock stars and the crazier things they did, he shared his black coffee and fireball. It was a good give and take.  
He began to catch himself daydreaming. Her by his side, even back at the church, perhaps, and he knew he was going to far with this, they together created a new bloodline, and he and his brothers overpower the current high ups in the church and live happily, safe.  
He slapped himself at the idea, but yet, he kept doing it.  
He laid awake one night, it was pitch dark, the moonlight peeking through the bus’s shitty curtains, she laid on top of him, lightly snoring. The festival circuit was coming to an end, time was almost up, he’d soon come back to the stone walls of the stiff chapel, back to his office, back as a pawn.  
He felt bad for thinking it, but running off wasn’t all a bad idea, just tell Miriam the band wanted to break up, and that he’d just stay with her and explore this… what was this? She wasn’t sleeping with other rock stars, and he wasn’t sleeping with anyone but her, he never thought he’d find himself like this, in some kind of relationship.  
But he knew he couldn’t run, make his younger brother Papa from his own selfishness? No. he couldn’t.

He told her the truth the day before he left, the project, the church, what he was, all of it. He also presented a second plane ticket, and asked a daring question.  
“Be with me, and come with me back to the Chapel.”  
He sat beside an empty seat on the way home.  
He really didn’t blame her,  
Either she was disgusted she fell for a deluded madman, or she feared the truth, and wanted no part of it.

If he was a mean, bitter person before, we had become twice as mean and bitter. He never allowed someone into his heart like that again, he never even spoke of her, Emil and Giovanni never knew of the woman that their brother, dare say, had feelings for. She did not exist.  
He really began to truly feel the curse of his position, alone, a toy, no real free will.

He feared the day he would pass the torch onto his younger brother. His hands shook as he placed the Mitre on his brother's head, he almost threw it to the side, proclaiming that this church was a monster, and taking the arms of his two brothers and running out.

He didn’t. And has Giovanni arose before him, as Papa Emeritus III, he shed a tear for his brother.

As he laid on the wooden table, uno cards scattered everywhere, Francesco Emeritus looked back on his life, playing in the rose gardens as a child while Emil gardened, meeting Giovanni and holding him for the first time, his young escapades in the church, and his Papal career. He thought of Miriam, for the first time in a decade he allowed himself to think of her, he hoped that she had created a good life for herself, maybe gotten married, had children, maybe he had just become a faded memory, something she can barely recall outside of the photos she took on the road.

He tried to reach out for his two brothers, but his arms were too heavy.


End file.
